


Control

by Makataan



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makataan/pseuds/Makataan
Summary: After successfully seizing Iserlohn Fortress, Yang  makes good on a promise to himself and retires from the military (*arrested development narrator voice*: he doesn't).





	1. Chapter 1

Yang Wenli watched the brilliant mass of stars pass the porthole he was leaning against, each speck bearing countless planets, stars and satellites. He was used to this scenery, growing up on a mercantile ship, and therefore wasn’t prone to romancing the stars, but this time it felt appropriate, given his melancholy mood.

He was to retire with a cushy pension on Heinessen, hopefully quashing any ideas Julian had of enlisting, and finally be rid of this killing business. He’d be unburdened of the machinations of Heisennopolis and be able to immerse himself in history, perhaps finally writing his dream thesis comparing current events to that of 18th century Terra.

“Hmmmm,” Greenhill, his adjutant, mused as she clicked a pen on the paper she was reading, her pretty brow furrowed in concentration. His anxiety getting the better of him, he asked her to proofread his letter of resignation. “Looks fine to me sir,” she said as lifted the page up and delicately folded it back in into its original ribbon-like shape. “Interesting way of folding a letter.”

Yang rubbed the side of his head. “Ah, yeah. My dad taught me.”

“It’s nice. Very rustic,” she said, smiling in admiration.

Yang turned to the porthole again, abashed. “It’s nothing. One of his more genuine relics”

Greenhill walked over to him, holding the letter out. “If I may speak freely sir?”

He took it from her. “Of course.”

She looked out porthole, her eyes glittering. “It was an honour serving under you in this short span of time, and..” she sighed. “I can’t say that I’m not disappointed.”

Yang looked at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Frederica Greenhill seemed attuned to his feelings and intentions in a way that most weren't, which he appreciated. In another life they might have been close friends, maybe more. You have a habit of upsetting women that care about you, he scolded himself.

He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “It’s not so bad. I’ll still be on Heinessen, and my door will always be open.”

She rubbed her hand over her eyes and turned to him. “Just make sure your piled up junk doesn’t spill on the pavement.”

Yang was startled. She giggled at his expression but quickly composed herself. “Sir. I should be going.”

He nodded. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”

She saluted smartly and left the room. Alone, the reality of what he was doing struck him. He thought of calling Schönkopf - he would appreciate the company, but didn’t have energy for his sardonic attitude. Besides, he didn’t want to seem needy. He went to his quarters through the connecting door, poured himself a nightcap and dozed off. 

***  
The pressure of his lips against Yang’s cheek made him breathe in sharply, and he moved his head away in embarassment and looked at him reproachfully. “Someone could be watching.”

Walter von Schönkopf plonked himself down opposite Yang at the canteen table as the other man was having breakfast. “What’s the problem? Nothing wrong with a friendly kiss between men. It’s Rosen Ritter custom to kiss one another in greeting.”

Yang rolled his eyes as he dipped a piece of toast into a softboiled egg. “Uhhuh.”

Schönkopf grabbed a slice of toast from his tray and started to butter it. “As Rosen Ritter we eschew modern views of masculinity. Just like the Spartans. Don’t you know your history?” he said with a wink.

“Must have skipped that module,” Yang said, looking at him over the rim of his tea cup.

Schönkopf gestured with the butter knife at him. “Aye, in that case I’m available for private lessons.”

Yang moved the knife out of his face. “It’s still morning you perv.”

“Nothing better to energize the spirits!” he said in between bites of toast. When he wiped his mouth of crumbs, all jokes were gone. “By the way, you still haven't told me what this mystery journey is all about.” 

His eyes widened when Yang informed him of his plan. “And you think the brass will just let you go? After El Facil, Astarte and now Iserlohn? You're the best damned admiral they have.”

“They can’t deny my resignation,” Yang said resolutely. He didn’t like the way Schönkopf merely raised his eyebrows in response, casting doubts on the success of his plan. 

Schönkopf rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “And you’re content to allow history to pass you by, when you could have an influencing hand on its outcome?”

“Having influence over history is a role I never asked for. I’m much happier studying it than being part of it.” He downed his tea to avoid Scönkopf’s piercing gaze and got up to leave. “I have to finish off some admin. Meet me by the shuttles when we’re within Heinessen’s orbit.”

“As you say,” he said, and busied himself with the leftover toast.

***  
Yang said nothing as he exited Sithole’s office, his fists clenched and his expression grim. Schönkopf was waiting for him outside, and was about to ask him how it went when Yang handed him the letter without looking at him.

Unsurprised, he tore the letter into a flurry of pieces that scattered into the wind. He hailed a taxi to take them back to the port. Yang was silent as he stared blankly at the passing cityscape. On the screen fitted into the dashboard a news anchor excitedly announced that because of his distinguished service in the eighth battle of Iserlohn Fortress, rear-admiral Yang Wenli was promoted to vice-admiral, and that the Free Planets Alliance salutes its miraculous hero. Schönkopf switched it off, reached over and folded his hand over Yang's, stroking it reassuringly with his thumb. 

As they passed the towering statue of Ale Heinessen, Yang imagined a myriad of strings extending from its fingers, subtly twitching, relaxing and tightening its grip on the men and women employed to uphold democracy and protect its civilians, his face frozen in a triumphant sneer. 

Back on the ship, Greenhill jumped up to welcome them back in salute. She casted a questioning glance at Schönkopf and he shook his head slightly in answer. 

“Vice-admiral…” her voice trailed off. Of course she would immediately be informed of his promotion.  
“I’m going to my room. I’ll call you if I need anything.”  
“Understood.”  
He nodded wanly and went off. Once out of hearing distance, she turned to Schönkopf imploringly.  
He shrugged with a scoff. “Did you think Heinessen would let go of its golden goose? Everyone loves him. So long as he’s employed by the military, they can approve any budget.”  
“I had my reservations.” Even though no one was around, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “More importantly, the vice-admiral is in a foul mood.”  
“I’ve noticed.”  
She rolled her eyes. “The point is, without Julian on board he might drink himself into a coma. Might be a good idea to check up on him?”  
“Ooooh?” he said, rubbing his chin and leaning in close. “You seem to have an invested interest in vice-admiral Yang’s wellbeing.”  
She looked away, irritated but blushing. “Naturally. I’m his adjutant. But I,” she said, turning to him and poking his chest so hard that he lost his balance, making him step back, “keep my relationship professional.” She shot him a self-satisfied look. “I have things to do. Good luck on your mission, Colonel Schönkopf,” she said with a wink, and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to Yang’s quarters was unlocked, as if he was expecting a visitor. He was sitting cross-legged in front of a 3-D chessboard, staring intently at the pieces. His scarf and jacket was thrown haphazardly on the couch, and his tie was undone. On an endtable next to him was a bottle of brandy, nearly half done. 

“Mind if I join you?,” Schönkopf said, announcing his presence.

Yang looked up, his face softened. “Just in time. Have a seat, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the opposite side of the board. His eyes were heavy lidded, and he slurred as he spoke. 

“My friend,” said Yang once Schönkopf made himself comfortable, “what you are about to witness might astound your eyes, for you are…” he paused and swayed about, “in the presence of a great magician.”

Schönkopf looked amused. “Do continue.”

Yang reached for the bottle and swung it around dramatically, the remaining liquor sloshing about.“Gentleman, please note there is nothing up my sleeve!” He opened the bottle. “Now, watch this brandy disappear.”

He lifts the bottle to his lips but Schönkopf grabbed it from him. “Alright, you probably don't need more of that.” He takes a swig himself.

Yang pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Schönkopf made sure the bottle is out of his reach. “I thought we were playing?” he asked, gesturing to the board.

Yang sighed and rubbed his head. “Yeah. To be honest, this game is making me kind of depressed.” He lifted a pawn and turned it around in his grip. “And I’m thinking about it too hard. Every piece having a set role…” his voice trailed off and he looked up. “You know how to play?”

“You wound me.”

“Pity, was hoping I could give you some private lessons,” he said, knowingly wiggling his eyebrows. 

Schönkopf grunted in amusement, but when Yang spoke again there was no humour in his voice. He looked tired, defeated. “I was never good at this game. Isn't that ironic?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a smile. “Then again, it was never my game to play. I'm just moving forward on Heinessen's command.” He placed the piece back in its position. “But now that I'm at the end of the board, I’m unable to get queened.” 

“You’re not at the end yet,” said Schönkopf. “You have to keep going.” He picked the queen, and set it next to Yang’s pawn. “And,” he said as he surrounded the pawn with other pieces, “you won’t be alone.”   
The final piece he set down was the knight, directly in front of the pawn.

Yang blinked. “Wow.” he pointed at the queen. “So that’s Greenhill. The one tower is Patorichev, but who’s the other?”

“Don’t take it too literally.”

“The Bishops?”

“Murai and Cazerne, who else?”

Yang laughed, and picked up the knight, looking pointedly at Schönkopf. “And this guy?”

He smirked. “It's open to interpretation.”

Yang turned the piece round and round in his fingers as he examined it from all angles. “I think I like him the most.” He pressed the piece against his lips to feel its warmth, the lines of the hologram blurring against the curve of his lips, and placed it back on the board. Looking down, he scratched his head. “We have a problem though.”

“Which is?”

“This isn’t how you play chess at all.” He switched off the display. “Well, I'm tired of it anyway.” He leered at him.”Know anything else we can play?”

“Yeah.” Schönkopf got up and stepped over the device. He pulled Yang up by his hand and slung his arm over his shoulder. “It's called ‘let's get you to bed’”.

“I see through your nefarious plan sir knight,” Yang slurred as they hobbled to the bedroom.

“Shut up, idiot”

The lights switched on automatically as they entered. Schönkopf placed him gently on the bed, took off his tie and managed to unbutton his shirt as he swayed from the one side to the other. As Schönkopf reached his navel, Yang nodded resolutely. “Very well. Have your way with me,” he exclaimed and sprawled himself on the bed.

Schönkopf’s fingers were still in the air, mid-undoing the buttons. Seeing Yang offering himself so willingly, his face flushed and his full mouth slightly parted, one hand pulling his shirt away to reveal a pink nipple, the other resting above the wild locks that framed his face sent a tremor through his abdomen. 

He swallowed. “Dumbass. Do you want your shirt wrinkled?” He slowly undid the rest of the buttons. Underneath his hands he felt Yang’s stomach rose as he inhaled deeply. “Schönkopf…” he purred. 

He refused to meet his gaze, its deep pools of longing, his cheeks flush with arousal, his mouth formed into a kissable pout. “Lift yourself up so I can take off your shirt,” he growled.

He obliged, but when Schönkopf started nudging it off Yang grabbed him by the front of his shirt and smashed their lips together, lapping the inside of Schönkopf’s mouth with his tongue, letting out hot, sour breaths in urgent moans.

He traced a line of kisses across his cheekbone and the shell of his ear.“Please stay,” he whispered.

“You need to rest,” came the stifled reply. 

Yang fastened his arms around him, digging his nails into his back. “I need you,” he gasped.

“Yang, you’re drunk and-”

“Walter.”

He froze. Yang was kissing his neck, whispering “Please, please.” Mustering all his willpower, he gently extricated himself from Yang’s grip. Holding on to his hands, he kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. Sleep tight.”

He set the lights to night mode and focused on making his exit seem as nonchalant as possible. With the lights off, Yang was almost immediately swallowed by blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stop writing bad kopuyan, my ass (i will never stop writing bad kopuyan)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going with gineipedia's spelling of names, but I assume there's a more official source for spelling now like the translated novels? Too tired to change it for this one. Maybe next time >.>


End file.
